Intruder
by greensight
Summary: A mysteriously injured Cub breaks into Wolf's flat in the dead of night. Wolf patches him up and lets him stay - but who is he actually running from?
1. Chapter 1

Hi, it's me, that girl who shows up every few years with an Alex n' Wolf fic. Thank you for 200 favs on Cold Blood. Happy Holidays - here's some hurt!Alex.

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**Chapter 1**

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It's not a sound that wakes him - more like a feeling. An instinct drilled into him by years of SAS training: you sleep lightly, and you wake when someone is in your home who shouldn't be.

Wolf is alert in seconds, out of bed and on his feet, blinking in the darkness. He forces himself to move slowly, stepping as quietly as he can as he makes his way to the door, his toes bare against the scratchy carpet. _Squeaky floorboard_, he reminds himself, and carefully shimmies around it. Wolf is the sort of person who sleeps with his bedroom door double-bolted, and all the hinges in his house well-oiled.

The intruder is in the living room.

Now, Wolf can hear them. They're quiet, but they're not silent. There is a shuffle of footsteps, and a breath that seems to shake a little on the way out, which gives Wolf a moment's pause. He wonders what, exactly, this person is doing in his flat. A run-of-the-mill burglary? No. Out of the question. Wolf has enough security alarms to wake half of London. No, this must be something to do with Wolf's job.

_Well_, he thinks, flexing his knuckles and preparing for a fight, _whoever you are, you picked the wrong house tonight._

He catches sight of the guy at the doorway: a shadowy figure beside the window, a neon skyline rising from their hunched shoulders. Wolf spends a second sizing the guy up (average height; not massively built), and then another few planning attack angles (sweep the legs out – punch to the kidneys – get the motherfucker in a headlock) before he's launching forwards to take the bastard down.

To Wolf's surprise, the guy actually gives him a little fight. Considering Wolf's advantages (knowing the terrain, being prepared, plus being two hundred pounds of solid military-grade muscle), the intruder really makes him work for it. The guy moves like a cat, like a shadow, _not_ like a soldier. He slips out of Wolf's grasp; he dodges a few blows. But he's not as quick as he could be. It's almost like something is slowing him down. Eventually, Wolf gets the guy on the ground – and when he slams the guy's shoulders against his equally-scratchy living room carpet, a pained noise breaks from him.

Wolf pulls out the zip-ties he grabbed before leaving his room (this whole incident is totally going to win his long-running argument with Snake that it's _not_ weird to keep emergency zip-ties in your bedside table) and prepares to tie the intruder up, knock him out and call Command.

But when the guy opens his mouth, everything changes.

"Wolf, stop! Wolf – it's me!"

Wolf freezes.

Wait a second. He knows that voice. And that voice _using his codename_—

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me..."

Wolf doesn't let the guy (the kid?) go, but he eases up a little, sitting back on his ankles. He squints against the dim light, and the intruder's features rearrange themselves into a familiar face. One that Wolf hasn't seen in two, maybe three years, since the Swiss Alps, and didn't expect to ever see again, in all honesty.

"Cub, what the fuck are you doing in my flat?"

A huff escapes Cub's lungs as Wolf releases him properly.

"Good to... see you... too."

Wolf shakes his head as he gets to his feet. _Fucking fantastic_, he thinks. This is _exactly_ what he wants to deal with at arse-o-clock in the morning. The kid from Brecon Beacons – the annoying little enigma who was tacked onto their team – has materialised in his home, and now Wolf has to deal with his shit. In his momentary irritation, it doesn't occur to Wolf that it might be strange that Cub hasn't gotten up yet, or that there was definitely a strain in his voice that was more than just exertion, or that there is a faint metallic tinge on the air that can only be one thing.

And then Wolf hits the lights, and he freezes for the second time that night.

"Shit, Cub. Shit - what the fuck happened?!"

Cub is wincing as he makes an attempt at sitting up. There's a bead of blood on his lip from where Wolf just hit him. But Wolf is more concerned with the fact that Cub's whole body is clenched like a fist around the dark red patch that's spreading across the side of his hoodie.

"I... there was..."

Before Cub can give him an adequate explanation, however, his eyes have rolled back into his head and he's gone.

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Wolf tears open the packet of medical thread with his teeth.

"Stay still," he says. His tone is sharp because he needs the kid to follow his orders right now, but he is gentle when he pushes Cub back against the bathroom tiles.

"Just get it done, will you?" the kid groans.

Wolf begins wiping down the needle with antiseptic. "This isn't a movie, Cub. I'm not sewing you up just to give you an infection."

"What," says Cub, his lips quirking, "you mean you're not just going to pour brandy all over me and go to town?"

_Very funny, kid_, Wolf thinks. But when Cub's eyes have settled on the floor tiles, Wolf steals a proper look at the kid, and worry still gnaws in his stomach. The kid might be joking around, but he's scarily pale, washed out underneath the yellowy bathroom lights. Wolf's gonna need a hell of a lot of stain-remover to get all of that blood out of his carpets - or maybe he should just get rid of it altogether. His sister has been trying to persuade him to let her redecorate this place for ages; maybe it's finally time to take her up on that offer. Although he doesn't know how he'd explain all those particular marks without giving her the impression that he's a serial killer.

When he managed to bring Cub back around, he didn't suggest a hospital. If Cub wanted one of those, he could have walked into any A&E in London. Instead, he chose to scale three stories and break into Wolf's flat, and there must be a reason for that.

"How did you even get in here, anyway?"

Cub raises his eyebrows. "Are you really setting me up for the classic 'in-tru-da window' joke? C'mon, Wolf."

Wolf shakes his head. He should know better than to think he can get a straight answer out of the kid. He was the same in France: all snark, no give.

He tosses a few bloody tissues into the bin and reaches for a clean. As he examines the wound in Cub's side, Wolf finds himself frowning.

"You sure this was just a knife?"

"Yeah. When you get stabbed, you usually know - _ah_ \- about it."

Wolf shoots him a glare. He isn't a medic, but he has enough training to be able to deal with this kind of emergency; he knows what to look out for. Miraculously, despite the amount of blood, the wound doesn't seem to have punctured any of Cub's major organs, which makes him weirdly lucky for someone who was unlucky enough to get stabbed in the first place. It seems to be shallow at the edges but strangely deep at the centre of the cut. It's hard to picture how that could have happened...

Wolf shakes his head. Cub is still losing blood; Wolf needs to get on with it.

Cub tenses up at the first few stitches (Wolf curses that he doesn't have any local anesthetic on hand; he's only been able to give the kid painkillers), but after a while, he goes quiet. At one point Wolf glances up, worried that he's lost consciousness again, but the kid meets his gaze coolly. His skin is clammy and his head is resting against the bathroom tiles, but he's very much awake.

"Not gonna pass out," he mumbles. "Don' worry."

_Shit_, Wolf thinks. Because that's not exactly normal, is it? This whole situation, this is seriously fucked up. The kid shouldn't have that shrug in his shoulders, that "I'm-used-to-this-get-it-over-with" attitude. He's a teenager, for Christ's sake.

Wolf has a thousand questions. Why is the kid here? Who fucking _stabbed_ him? How did he get Wolf's address? And, maybe more importantly, why did he choose _Wolf_ to come to, of all people?

"Cub..." he starts, after he's finished and he's washing the red off his hands, but the kid reads his mind.

"Can I - can I just pass out for a few hours first, please? 'll explain ev'rything in the morning. Promise."

Well, Wolf can't exactly say not to that, can he?

"Sure," he says. "But I charge board."

The kid groans. "London rates?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. No freeloaders in this house."

Wolf helps Cub back to the living room, and no sooner has he lowered the kid down onto the more comfortable of his two sofas, Cub is out like a light. His head nods into his chest and doesn't come back up again. Wolf sighs, then heads to the kitchen to make himself a mug of coffee. There's no way he'll be sleeping again tonight, not even with his usual two knives under his pillow. Apparently, without signing up for it, he's found himself on protection duty.

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reviewers will receive my firstborn child in thanks x


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Merry New Year, readers! I have been so, _so_ sick. Anyway, thank you to everyone who read the first chapter (especially if you reviewed - the firstborn child will have to be a shared custody deal). This fic will be 5/6ish chapters, fyi. And there is a plot in here, I promise.

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**Chapter 2**

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Wolf knows that he should report this. He should tell Command as soon as the kid passes out on his sofa...

But he doesn't. He holds off. He decides, casting an eye over Cub's sleeping form, that he'll at least give the kid a chance to explain himself first.

(Maybe some part of Wolf's gut already knows that this is more complicated that it looks.)

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He tries not to think about what might have happened to Cub if he'd broken into an empty flat last night. He's lucky that Wolf was here, and not on a mission or at Brecon. Wolf isn't really supposed to be on leave at the moment, but every SAS member in the London area has been put on yellow alert. Apparently, Five or Six think something is going to happen. Not that Wolf has been told anything. Typical. Bastards.

He also tries not to stare at the kid too much while he's sleeping, because it makes him feel like a class-A creep. But he can't help but cast a few curious glances when Cub mumbles things that sound like "help" and "stop" and "not doing it", his face screwed up against the pillow that Wolf slid underneath his head.

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Cub sleeps until noon. Wolf isn't actually in the room when Cub wakes - which he just _knew_ would happen. He's spent most of the morning loitering around the kitchen and living room, waiting for the kid to come around. But, predictably, it happens when Wolf ducks into his bedroom for no more than two minutes, only to return to see Cub off the sofa and half way to the kitchen counter. He catches Wolf's eye, and there's a guilty look plastered on his face that makes him look _far_ too young. Hand-in-the-cookie-jar young.

"Nope," says Wolf, folding his arms. "No way. Get your arse back on that sofa or I'll put another knife in you."

Cub's eyes almost roll out of his head. "Nice to know some things never change, Wolf."

"My house my rules, Cub."

Hmm. The codenames. Wolf wonders if he should tell the kid his real name. But surely he must know it already, since he knows Wolf's address? Maybe the kid decided that it would feel strange to call him _James_. Maybe it would. Whatever. They'll stay as Wolf and Cub for now.

He fetches Cub one of his own t shirts, since his is still covered in blood and crumpled up on Wolf's bathroom tiles. It's too big for him, but Cub doesn't complain, shrugging it over his shoulders and letting it fall to cover the wound and the bandages.

Wolf makes Cub a coffee on request, makes an obligatory comment about pretentious teenagers who think they need to drink coffee, and then sits down on the other sofa.

"So," says Wolf. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on? Or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Cub leans back and takes a sip from his mug. He must be feeling like absolute shit, but he looks perfectly at ease. Now that the bandages are hidden from view, it's all too easy to forget that he's injured. If it weren't for the slight tension in his brow (and Wolf only knows that because, unfortunately, he's seen quite a few people with injuries), Wolf might think he was sitting in some artsy indie cafe in Soho.

"The thing is," he says, "Yeah. I'll tell you. But there's not really not that much to tell."

Wolf sighs. He tries not to get frustrated. _Deep breaths_, his sister or Snake would say, but those never really worked with him. "Okay, kid. I know you're an agent. But it's _my_ doorstep you turned up on." Or _my window you broke into_ more accurately, but Wolf isn't in the mood for splitting hairs. "I think I deserve some kind of explanation, don't you?"

"No, no - you do. I know you do. It's just..." Cub shrugs with one shoulder. "It's pretty run-of-the-mill. I was in a bad situation, and it ended with me being stabbed. I managed to get out of there and needed place to lay low, and - well, I remembered that you live around here."

Wolf is pretty sure his eyebrows reach his hairline.

"Oh yeah - I hacked into your files a while ago. Sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry at all. "Fucking spies," Wolf mutters, but he can't begrudge the kid too much. He shouldn't really have expected anything else, from an agent. "But why didn't you - I dunno - go to a safehouse, or something? I thought Six had them all over London."

"Nearest one was further away than here. And, uh, my arteries don't exactly come with free unlimited refills, you know? Didn't have much time to think. Had to make a quick decision."

Wolf studies him for a minute. Cub doesn't look fazed. He takes another sip of his drink and meets Wolf's gaze evenly. If he's lying, he's very good at it. But then, he would be, wouldn't he?

"Okay," Wolf nods, eventually. "You feeling up to eating anything? I could make some… breakfast, or whatever. If you people eat stuff like that."

"Wow. Breakfast. Quite the fifties housewife, aren't you?"

"Every time you insult me, I double your board."

Cub grins. Then he moves a little, and Wolf sees him stifle a wince. "I... don't think I can eat just yet. But thanks."

"Okay," says Wolf, eyeing the place where, underneath Cub's hoodie, the wound must be. "Who stabbed you?"

He's hoping to catch Cub off-beat. But Cub, of course, rolls with it.

"Just some people I fucked over."

"An assignment?"

"Kind of. You could say they were, uh, keeping track of me. For a while. But I decided to cut ties for good, and they really weren't very happy about that."

That seems like a reasonable enough story. Although, frustratingly, it doesn't actually _tell_ him anything. Whoever taught Cub to do that - talk without actually saying anything of substance - did it very well.

"Any chance they'll track you here?"

Does Wolf imagine that small curl of Cub's lip – like he's said something funny? "No. I left them a... a little present, you could say, on the other side of the city. That should keep them occupied for a while. You don't need to worry. Nobody's going to come calling."

_Nobody except the one who already has_, Wolf thinks. His eyes fall on the blood patch on the carpet beneath the window. In the morning light, he realises that there's no way he's going to be able to pass _that_ off as a red wine stain. (Not that he drinks red wine. Nasty stuff.)

"I would apologise for bleeding on your carpet," says Cub, following his gaze, "but I think I did you a favour, to be honest. If you don't mind me saying, Wolf, that's the nastiest carpet I've ever had the misfortune of passing out on."

"Your board just doubled again. Also, if you're gonna keep wanting coffee, you better pay me back for the milk."

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Cub sleeps again in the afternoon, and he persuades Wolf to get a few hours of rest himself. Wolf has to admit that he feels better for it. He's been trained to last much longer without sleep, of course, but that doesn't mean he actually wants to do it, or functions better for it. After he wakes, he starts making dinner, and frowns down at his phone. It's not connecting to the internet, and the call signal looks shit as well, which is weird.

"Are you getting any signal?" he calls to Cub.

"It would be kind of hard for me to get any signal when I don't have a phone."

"What - a teenager who doesn't have a phone?"

"Lost it when I was being chased."

Then Wolf realises something. He assumed the kid was going to make his own arrangements RE: getting out of here. But since he doesn't have any means of communication… what's his plan, exactly?

Wolf finishes making the pasta and passes Cub a plate. He doesn't have a dining table, because this is London and his flat isn't quite the size of a peanut can but isn't far off, and he doesn't want to waste space with something like that when he doesn't have people over all that often. He fishes out a spare dining tray that his sister bought him years ago (he thinks it was decorated by his nephew, because it has "Uncle Jams" painted on it in glittery letters) and hands it to Cub, whose lips twitch a little but say nothing.

"So Cub," he says, after a while. "I don't mean to be rude exactly, but—"

"When am I going to fuck off and leave you alone?"

Wolf tries not to wince. In his defence, he might have phrased it a little more tactfully.

Cub pushes around the pasta on his plate.

"I should probably call Jones. She'll send someone for me. It's just…"

And then Cub bites down on his lip. He almost looks _nervous._

"Just what?"

Cub sighs. He puts his tray down on the arm of the sofa and draws his legs underneath him. Alarm bells are going off in Wolf's head. Cub has been nothing but cool and stoic since he woke up - hell, he was cracking jokes when he was bleeding out - but the prospect of talking to MI6 turns him into _this_?

"Cub," says Wolf, putting a little more authority in his voice. "What's going on?"

Cub's eyes snap up to meet his. "Jones... Jones has put me with this foster family, right? And they... okay. But they don't _get it_. You know? They're MI6, but they're desk workers. If they knew I'd been hurt, they'd send me to hospital and then I'd have guards on the door and… I don't want that. I don't _need_ that. I'm not a little kid, I've been in the game for years now. I've dealt with worse than this."

Wolf is once again struck with the realisation that this isn't _normal_, none of this is, hearing a teenager (eighteen-year-old? Nineteen-year-old?) talk this way.

"Also..."

Wolf can see that Cub is going to say something else, but he stops himself. His teeth catch on his lower lip.

"Also what?"

"The foster family. I'm not sure if I can trust them."

Well, shit. Wolf understands that. Of _course_ he understands.

"Look," he says, leaning forward, "I know this line of work is dangerous. It's easy to see enemies everywhere. Really fuckin' easy, sometimes. But you have to trust _somebody_, or you end up alone. And that's the most vulnerable position you can be in, remember?"

Cub looks up sharply. There's a glint in his eye, and Wolf suddenly has a feeling that he's going to regret those words.

"My dad was a spy too. A really good spy. He only trusted two people, and one of then sold him out to Scorpia. They got both of my parents murdered."

Wolf can't hold his gaze. "Jesus, kid."

"Yeah." Then, Cub pushes a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn't have... look, if you just let me borrow your phone, I'll call Jones and ask her to-"

"No," Wolf cuts him off. "No. You don't need to call her."

Cub looks confused.

"You can stay here as long as you need," says Wolf. He _shouldn't_ be saying it, but fuck it, fuck it all, he is. "If you think there's something off about this foster family, you shouldn't go back to them yet. Not yet. Not until you've got your strength back again."

Cub lets out a breath. "Are you serious? Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. Didn't stitch you up just to send you back into the firing line, did I?"

A smile breaks across Cub's face. A real one. "Thanks, Wolf. Seriously - thanks."

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Wolf doesn't leave his flat that day. He needs groceries – they actually _are _running low on milk – but he'll do that tomorrow. Cub showers in the evening, and Wolf redresses his wound (it doesn't look much healed but it's early days), and Cub then falls asleep again pretty quickly after that. Wolf is actually surprised that the kid is awake and talking at this point. Most people would have crumpled into shock like wet cardboard by now. Cub must have been telling the truth when he said he's been in the game for a while.

But...

Wolf still can't shake the feeling that something isn't adding up. The kid's story checks out, sure. It all makes sense. But Wolf still feels that there is something _more_ going on here.

He tries to shake it off. Another few days, he thinks, and then Cub will be recovered enough to leave, and he'll go back to MI6, and they probably won't see each other again for another decade or whatever. Another few days, and then it will be like none of this ever happened.

What harm can it do?

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reviews are love :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hello! I wrote this chapter a whole month ago, and then my brain lost _all_ motivation to do the final edits. Until this morning, when I woke up after surgery and my brain was like: _bitch! we need to write!_ So here it is: proof that I don't abandon all my AR fics after 2 chapters. *brushes Technicalities and The Locked Room hastily under the carpet*

Please review! They make my day! I love you! x

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**Chapter 3**

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Over the new few days, Cub slips easily into the cracks in Wolf's life. He forgets the kid is there a few times (thank God Wolf isn't one of those people who sleep naked; his mother always told him it was dirty), but after a couple of awkward moments, he quickly adjusts to Cub's presence in the flat.

In all fairness, it doesn't really take much adjusting. Cub isn't the picture of a messy teenager. If anything, the kid is a little _too_ clean – Wolf can never tell when he's been in a room, not even when he's used the shower, which veers a little into the unnerving, because it's definitely a spy habit. Cover the tracks; get rid of the evidence. Wolf wonders if the kid knows he's even doing it or not.

What's more, Cub deflects questions with the ease of an experienced agent. He parries "How old are you anyway?" with "Too old to call social services but too young to flirt with, I'm afraid" and a wink. "Do they even pay you?" is met with "Oh, yeah, they pay me _so_ much - I'm so expensive, Wolf, you have no idea…" until Wolf actually _begs_ him to shut up.

Wolf still hasn't been called in by HQ, despite the yellow alert, so he spends his days trying to make himself busy. He runs errands, keeps up with his workouts, and goes on a few runs. But he mostly tries to stay around the flat. Not that he's getting attached to the kid, or anything. No, he's just looking out for himself, more than anything. If someone showed up at his place… well, it would be hard to explain, wouldn't it? _Why exactly do you have an injured agent sleeping on your sofa, Corporal?_ The last thing Wolf wants is to get in trouble with Intelligence.

On the third night, when him and Cub finally get sick of watching re-runs of awful American soaps, Wolf fishes out a pack of cards from the back of the sofa and lays them out on the coffee table. He thinks it's a good idea (brain stimulation and all that, right?), until he loses the first two rounds of poker.

"You're cheating," he accuses, when Cub looks set to win his third. Wolf can't tell how he's doing it, but he knows that Cub has to be. Eagle used to cheat atrociously back in training. Fox too, only he was more subtle about it (probably why Six snapped him up and left the rest of them).

Cub plasters a _Who, me?_ look on his face, but sure enough, when Wolf throws down his cards, the kid has pulled a full house out of nowhere. He scoops up their playing chips (a handful of old bottle tops that Wolf has been meaning to toss in the recycling) to add to his growing hoard.

"Who taught you to do that?" Wolf asks, glancing down at his phone. Not that it's any use: the internet is _still_ playing up, which is irritating, but he can't complain about it because he knows that Cub would take the piss. _T__he big bad SAS soldier __can't __handle a little shitty WiFi?_ Besides, Wolf has his pager; if K Unit is called in for an assignment, he'll know about it.

Cub's hands move deftly as he shuffles, weaving the cards in and out, in and out. "My uncle taught me a little. And I picked up some tricks along the way."

Wolf snorts. "Very _Casino Royale_ of you."

Cub pulls a face. "That movie is so overrated. The way he gets back up and carries on playing after he's poisoned? Unrealistic. I was poisoned once and I was out of it for _weeks_."

Cub is so casual about these things, but the words hit Wolf like a slap. "Who the fuck _poisoned _you?"

Cub freezes for a moment, and Wolf thinks it's the first time he's actually caught the kid off guard. But then he shrugs it off, making a vague gesture like it hardly matters. "Just someone I pissed off."

"You say that a lot." Wolf picks up a fresh card - a jack. "Was it the same people you pissed off enough to put a knife in you?"

"Nah. Different crew."

"Sounds like you're making a lot of enemies."

_And a habit of leaving loose ends_, Wolf thinks. That isn't the way Wolf was taught to go about assignments. In his book, when you leave a mission, you make sure every bad guy is accounted for, or it isn't over yet. Cub's way of doing things sounds a lot messier.

Wolf thinks of the nightmares he keeps overhearing. The way Cub tenses in his sleep.

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" asks Cub, glancing up with an unreadable look.

"I just don't want you to get yourself killed, kid."

"Well, you don't need to worry. I can take care of myself."

_Shut up, James_, whispers a voice in his ear, _Let it go_. But he's never been good at that – at backing down from an argument once it's been kindled. "Really? Because you didn't see yourself the other night, Cub. You looked half-dead already."

Cub puts his cards down. "I didn't come here for a lecture. You're not - you're not my guardian, or my fucking keeper, or whatever. So mind your own business, won't you?"

But who _is_ his guardian? Some "foster family" who he hasn't mentioned once, except to inform Wolf that they existed?

"You broke into my-"

"Yeah, yeah, your house. So you keep saying. Next time, I'll just bleed out on the pavement, shall I?"

"From the sound of it, there might not be a next time if you carry on like you are!"

Wolf knows he should shut up, because what does he know about it, but he can't help it. Poisoned, stabbed… what the hell is Cub getting himself into?

Cub's laugh is cold and cynical; for a moment; he sounds nothing like the teenager that he's supposed to be. "I wouldn't worry too much, Wolf. If I were going to die young, it would already have happened. Enough people have tried, believe me."

"It almost sounds like you're _trying _to get yourself killed."

Cub jerks like Wolf has hit him. And - okay, yeah, that was a low blow. Wolf half expects the kid to tell him to go fuck himself, half expects some cold remark that's sharp enough to slice him in two. But he gets neither. Bereft of the opportunity to make a typical teenage exit - with no bedroom to storm into - Cub throws down his cards and stalks off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Game over, I guess," Wolf mutters.

He's pissed off, torn between wanting to kick himself and wanting to kick some sense into the kid. It's not like he said anything that isn't true… even if, admittedly, he wasn't very tactful about it.

As Wolf puts the cards away, he is surprised to see that Cub's hand wasn't actually that good. If they had kept playing, Wolf would have won.

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Cub is sulky with him for the next day and a half. It's impressive, how he manages to avoid Wolf in a flat that only has three rooms. When Wolf comes back from the gym the following evening, there's no immediate sign of Cub, and for a second, he thinks the kid has left. Slipped away into the darkness.

But then he sees a light on in the bathroom, and breathes.

Cub hasn't closed the door properly. When Wolf approaches, he catches a glimpse of the kid as he twists in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to re-tie his own bandages. He must feel Wolf approach because his eyes snap up, meet Wolf's gaze in the mirror, and he scowls.

_Ugh_. Wolf hates having to be the bigger person, but enough is enough.

"Give me that," he mutters, pushing into the bathroom and plucking the roll of bandages from Cub's hand.

Cub glowers for a second, but he lets Wolf take charge, as Wolf knew he would. Over the last few days, Wolf has learnt enough about the kid to gather that he's a stubborn son of a bitch (unfortunately, they share that trait), but he's also figured out that Cub is ruthlessly practical (they all are, spies) and he'll know that Wolf can do a better job of this than him.

Cub slides up onto the counter, giving him access to the wound. As Wolf presses antiseptic into the gash, his brow draws into a frown. The knife wound looks much the same as it did four days ago. The edges of the wound are still red and raw, nastily tender… Not signs of a full-blown infection. But Wolf assumed it would look a bit better by now. Cub hasn't complained about it hurting - but this is the kid who climbed two stories while bleeding out rather than knock on the door. Wolf is starting to suspect that Cub would sooner perform open heart surgery on himself than ask for help.

_Don't overthink it_, he tells himself. He's not the team medic, after all; he only has standard first aid training. What does he know about stab wounds?

And then something else catches his attention, anyway.

When Cub first broke into his apartment, and Wolf was patching him up, he was too focused on keeping the kid from bleeding out or passing out to notice much else. But as Wolf is wrapping the wound this time (traditional bandages; he doesn't want to put anything sticky near that just yet), there isn't an immediate danger this time, and Wolf's attention is not so hyper-focused on the knife wound. This time, he notices things.

Wolf has his fair share of scars. Run-of-the-mill ones, in this line of work; cuts and stitches that have faded to dim white lines, old brushstrokes. And Cub has those kind of scars, too, which gives Wolf a little shake at first (he's a _teenager_), but shouldn't be surprising, all things considered. Workplace hazards and all that.

No - it's the _other_ kind of scar that Wolf can't unsee, and he can't resist saying something, either.

"That looks pretty nasty." He nods at the pale bundle of scar tissue that looks awfully close to Cub's heart. He doesn't even know what to think about the ones on the kid's shoulders – blotchy discolouration; skin that has burst through skin.

Cub follows his gaze. "Yeah. That one stung a little." Then Cub shifts slightly. "Just so we're clear, I _don't _have a death wish. Okay?"

Wolf pauses. "Good. Because I don't need that on my conscience, alright? Even if you are an annoying little shit."

Cub raises his eyebrows. "Careful there, Wolf. Almost sounds like you actually _care_ or something."

"Well, funerals depress me." He ties the first bandage in a neat, tight knot. "And I don't know how they'd fit your big head into a regular-sized coffin."

Cub smirks.

Wolf rubs his eyes with the crook of his elbow. His muscles are still aching from the gym; he might have gone a bit too hard on the weights. "Look, if I ask you some questions, will you answer honestly? It's just that - since you're staying here, there are things that it would be easier for me to know straight up, so you don't just spring them on me out of nowhere. And I've signed the Official Secrets Act and everything; I'm not going to sell you out to the tabloids."

Cub's head cocks. He looks at Wolf for a long second.

"Alright. But within reason, okay? And only – _only_ – if you do the same."

Wolf grunts. He supposes that's fair.

"So where did you grow up?"

"Same as you."

Wolf frowns for a second, before realising the kid probably means London. His accent is a bit more polished than Wolf's, but they're both Londoners; anyone could tell.

"Can't ever answer a question straight, can you?"

"Nope."

"Okay. How old were you when you came to Brecon?"

"Fourteen. How old were _you_ when I was there?"

"Twenty-two," Wolf answers, a beat too late, because _fourteen_? Shit.

"Young for an SAS recruit," the kid comments, like he isn't practically fresh out of the womb. "I thought they only recruited after three years of service?"

"I dropped out of college to join up. And you've got no right to talk. What, are Six picking them out of the fuckin' nursery now? Jesus Christ."

The kid looks amused.

"What?" Wolf says defensively.

"You're funny when you get angry, is all." Cub shakes his head. "I can't believe I ever thought you were intimidating."

Wolf's hands stop in surprise. His sister said almost exactly the same thing, once. _You look like steam is gonna come out of your ears, James_, she had cackled. Wolf tries to ignore the odd feeling in his chest. Cub isn't his little brother, he reminds himself. He hardly knows the kid - and he's a spy, besides. But the feeling does not go away.

"You didn't answer my question. How did you end up with Six so young?"

Cub shrugs, like it's an unimportant detail. "I was a special case. All my family were spies."

"Were?"

Wolf knows he said his parents were dead, but surely he must have somebody, right?

"Yeah. Were."

_Ouch_, Wolf thinks. That answers his next question: _Why haven't your family objected to what you're doing with MI6?_ Clearly, they're not in a position to be making objections.

"So this foster family—"

"Have absolutely no relation to me. They're a couple - desk workers at Liverpool Street. You know about Liverpool Street? Yeah. One of them used to be Jones' PA a few years ago. They're a convenient choice, to be honest. Both of them work for Jones, so there's no need to be all secretive about who my real guardian is or where I go when I'm not at their place."

There is no animosity in his tone. But no affection, either. He said "their place" and not "home".

Wolf is no bleeding heart, but - well, his heart may be bleeding a little for the kid. Just a little.

"My turn. So, do _you_ have any family, or are you a poor little orphan Annie like me?"

Wolf's mouth twists. He doesn't like talking about his family - not with people in his line of work. Stories like what happened to Jones' family… they're rare, but they tend to stick with you. He can't exactly refuse to tell Cub, though. They made a deal.

"I have a sister. And a nephew."

"No parents?"

"We moved to London when I was eight. The rest of my family stayed in Argentina, and my mum died of cancer when I was sixteen."

Instantly, Cub sobers. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." Wolf pauses. An idea occurs to him. _If you tell him some really personal shit, maybe he'll do the same?_ It's a bit of an underhand move, but Wolf swiftly decides that it's worth it. Cub is a spy; his kind deal almost exclusively in low blows. "It got me into some trouble, though. My mum dying. I, uh, I didn't really know how to deal with it. The grief. For a while, it mostly got turned into anger. I think if I hadn't joined up… well, I don't know what I might have ended up doing, or where it would have led me."

Cub is looking at him very closely. Wolf wonders if it's worked. Is Cub going to open up in return? Tell him what happened to his family – or how he ended up working for the British Intelligence before his voice dropped? _Is this our emotional bonding scene?_

"Sorry I had a go at you," is what Cub says, eventually, when Wolf has finished with his bandages and he's pulling his t-shirt back on. "It was shitty of me. Especially when you're letting me stay here, and - and looking out for me, and everything."

Not exactly what Wolf was hoping for, but... there's _something_ there. Is Wolf reading this right? Is Cub avoiding his eye because he's _embarrassed?_ Embarrassed to admit that he needs someone to look out for him - even when it's just someone to bandage his literal knife wound and let him crash on their sofa (aka: the bare bloody minimum)?

"Don't be stupid," says Wolf brusquely. "Like you said, you were bleeding out. You'll just have to-"

"Pay you back for the milk?"

"Pay me back for the milk."

Cub grins. Maybe Wolf should leave it there - end on a good note, rather than stick his neck out and risk starting another fight. But there's one more thing that he needs to know about.

"Cub… I know you said that the people who you, uh, pissed off, wouldn't be able to track you here. But I have to know. Do you have a plan for dealing with them in the long term?"

The grin fades. "What, worried I'm gonna get stabbed again and ruin more of your carpet?" Cub looks down, and Wolf notices his fingers curling against the granite of the bathroom counter. "Yeah. I have a plan."

"Are they… big? Powerful?"

A ghost of amusement passes over Cub's face, nothing like his smile from before. "You could say that. Yes, they have pretty terrifying amount of influence. I actually don't think their core ideals are all bad… but the way they operate is wrong. They've gone unchecked for a long time, and I-" He stops abruptly, his mouth closing, as if realising he's said something that he shouldn't have. "Anyway. Yeah. They're powerful. But there are bigger fish in the ocean, you know? And now that I'm out of there, they're not getting me again."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because I'm gonna make friends with the bigger fish."

Wolf remembers how Cub said, yesterday, that it was his uncle who taught him poker. Was it this same "uncle" (who must be dead now, Wolf realises) that taught him this kind of strategy? How closely did he distinguish between the game and reality? And how old was Cub when those lessons started?

"I could have sworn we were talking about spying a minute ago, not fish."

"Not my fault you don't know how a metaphor works."

Wolf glares, but there's no real heat behind it, just like there's never any bite in Cub's insults. "Listen, kid. I know you don't need anyone to tell you how to do your job - but you don't always have to do it on your own. You know that, right? If there's anything me, or, or K Unit can do to help-"

"I appreciate that," Cub cuts him off. "But I don't need anyone's help. I work best alone."

_Really?_ Wolf thinks of the wonky bandages, tied in front of the mirror. He thinks of Cub, pale and unresponsive, in those awful few minutes the other night when Wolf thought he wasn't going to wake up. He thinks of Cub when he talked about his foster family. _A convenient choice._ _I don't trust them._

"There's a reason they train us in units, kid," he says softly. "Sometimes you can't do a job on your own, and you shouldn't try, even if that's how you'd prefer to do it."

But Cub is shaking his head. "I don't need anyone else," he repeats, not looking Wolf in the eye but down at his hands. "And I've got the luck of the devil. Didn't you know?"

Wolf thinks it's supposed to be sarcastic, but to his ears, it just sounds sad.

.

.

And later that night, something finally happens.

Wolf always keeps his SAS pager in his pocket. He has it linked to his phone alarm as well for when he's sleeping, but the shrill ringing would probably be enough to wake him anyway. It certainly catches his attention now, as evening is sliding into night, making him wince until he manages to hit the accept button.

Wolf glances down at the screen, and sees a string of words. Orders.

_Go immediately to 89 Sagittarius Lane, Surrey. Position outside target location. Wait for the rest of your unit there._

"Oh, here we bloody go," Wolf mutters. That address is almost thirty miles away, and apparently he's expected to make his own way there. Fantastic. He gets to his feet and grabs the holdall from his wardrobe, where it has been ready and waiting for days.

Cub barely glances up when he hears Wolf's been called in for an assignment. "Don't get yourself killed," he calls as Wolf is on his way out, and the last Wolf sees of the kid, he is sprawled out on the good sofa, feet on the coffee table. _I'll give him hell for that when I get back_, Wolf thinks, and swings the door shut behind him.

Wolf drives a fraction over the limit, but not enough to get himself in trouble. It has rained, and the streets are shimmering with it, a second city reflected upside-down in the puddles. Wolf is gliding down a thankfully-minimally-congested road when his phone buzzes on his dashboard. A call. Wolf glances at it, and accepts.

"You alright, Eagle?" He assumes that Snake and Eagle will be making their way to the same location, from where they've been stationed on yellow.

A moment of crackling silence, then, "… Wolf?"

His teammate sounds surprised to hear him, like he didn't just ring his number.

"Yeah." Wolf tilts the steering wheel as the road meanders left. "What's up?"

"Didn't expect to hear from you, mate. Have they cleared you for duty, then?"

Wolf frowns. "What d'you mean? I was never taken off duty."

Suddenly, there is a bad feeling stirring in his gut. Eagle's next words don't make it any better.

"Uhh, yeah? You were? One of the higher-ups suspended you from field missions a few days ago. We got a phone call from HQ saying you'd be sitting this one out. We - me and Snake - we thought it must be pretty serious, since you weren't even picking up the phone..."

Wolf swerves the car to the side of the road. A bit dramatic, maybe, but alarms are going off in his head. "Eagle, when _exactly_ did you get that call?"

"I dunno – a few days ago? Shouldn't you know that yourself?"

"Just fucking tell me, will you!"

"Okay, okay, sheesh." A pause. "I'm pretty sure it was Saturday. Some time in the evening? Yeah, 'cause I was round at Snake's, and we were gonna try that new pub next to the one that closed down…"

Wolf stops listening. He counts back the days. Cub turned up on Friday night – or the early hours of Saturday morning, to be exact. Wolf stayed up the rest of the night after he showed up, but in the afternoon… Cub persuaded him to get some sleep. And when he woke up, the phone lines were shot and the internet was disconnected.

"_Shit_," Wolf breathes.

His brain is firing off possibilities now, and boy, are there a lot of them. Cub has had access to Wolf's whole flat - including his computer - for four days. Could he have gotten into the SAS database? Yes. Almost definitely… in fact, he already admitted to doing it once before. _I hacked into your files a while ago. Sorry._ Taking Wolf off duty would mean that he wasn't getting any alerts. And it would be even easier for Cub to cut him off from the rest of the world. He's Six – he could definitely get his hands on a signal blocker, or something similar, to take out the internet and the cell signal.

And now, being paged today, to this mystery location…

It's lured Wolf out of the flat. Almost lured him all the way out of London.

"Fuck!"

Wolf slams his palm into the steering wheel. The kid has played him like a fiddle.

"Uhhhh, you okay there, James? You sound a little—"

Wolf ends the call. All he can think of is turning the car around and going straight back to his flat. But he's not driven more than half a mile when Eagle's name flashes up on his screen again. Wolf tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the grey asphalt, on going as fast as he possibly can without killing anything, but eventually, on maybe the fourth call, the buzzing becomes so annoying that he picks up.

"Really not in the _fucking_ mood right now, Eagle."

He cuts off a seven-seater to a chorus of angry shouts. Wolf doesn't care; doesn't give a single shit. His mind is full of scenes from the last few days… Cub, bleeding out on the living room floor. Sleeping on Wolf's good sofa with his hair askew. Sitting on the bathroom counter, skin sliced open, grinning. He trusted the kid. He _liked_ the kid. Was it all just a ploy?

Or is Wolf wrong about this? Could it be a mistake? Wolf hesitates, even now. Maybe he shouldn't jump to that conclusion. Maybe it's nothing to do with Cub at all…

"Neither am I, you prick," Eagle snaps. "_James_, what the hell is going on? And don't hang up. I'm your bloody teammate, so whatever's happening, you need to tell me about it, because it affects me too."

Wolf is going to hang up again – but something in Eagle's words catches at him. Wasn't he saying the same thing to Cub, just a few hours ago? _There's a reason they train us in units, kid._ Sure, in the time since then, Cub has (might have? Already had?) turned on him, but it's still true. Eagle's his teammate. Wolf resists the urge to shut him down again, albeit with a scowl.

"I'm just dealing with something right now. I don't need any of you to get involved."

"… Okay. Alright. Sure. I don't understand how you're not able to come on the assignment with the rest of us but you're able to get mixed up in your own shit… but alright, James. Whatever."

Wolf is ready and raring to snipe back, but—

"What do you mean, the assignment? I thought we were on yellow alert."

"Yeah, we _were_. Then yellow turned into red."

Wolf tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "What happened?"

"Mate, have you not read the news at any point this week? Most of the units have already been called in. We're just waiting for our turn."

Wolf's stomach is doing Olympic-level acrobatics.

"Some Six agent has gone rogue. The whole bloody country is looking for him."

_James San Luca, you truly are the dumbest bastard alive._

.

**And now for a quick plug: you should totally go and read The Chaotic Custody Catastrophe (posted by the lovely Zyzyax), a collab fic featuring some truly wonderful, talented, funny writers (and also me, haha).**


	4. Chapter 4

EDIT: I uploaded the wrong chapter because I am, in fact, an idiot. I don't think anyone saw it (ffnet viewcounter pls be reliable) but anyway, _here_ is the finished thing.

The world sure has changed since last update, huh? I think we're all taking comfort in stories right now, so, without further ado,

.

.

Wolf gets angry sometimes. That much is true. But even in his blackest of moods, there's this annoying little voice in his head that's always trying to talk him down. Maybe it's his conscience, or an angel on his shoulder, or, as his sister once put it, "just your own fucking brain, shithead" – whatever it is, it's pleading for Cub right now like a defence attorney in a murder trial.

_What if it's not him? _the voice suggests as Wolf speed-tickets his way back to the flat. But of course it's him. Who else could it be? _Another agent._ No. There are too many coincidences. Cub has to be involved somehow. _Okay, so what if he's doing this under some kind of coercion? Six is messy. You don't know what he's gotten himself mixed up in. Hear his side of the story first._

But even if only half of it is true, then Cub has still lied. He's lied and lied and lied.

How would Wolf believe anything the kid said?

As he runs his third red light, Wolf tries to force this little debate club exercise out of his mind. He needs to keep his head clear. Best case scenario, Cub is still in the flat, and he has no idea that Wolf knows what he knows. That way, Wolf can take him by surprise when he gets there and hopefully (hopefully) subdue him somehow before anyone else has to get involved. Worst case scenario… Well, there could be a lot of worst case scenarios. Probably best not to think about those right now.

Wolf's had a lot of strategy training, but one memory that comes back to him is when he watched _The Lord of the Rings_ with his sister, back when they were teenagers. His sister had not been impressed with the last movie to say the least, and she'd thrown popcorn at the screen when the eagles showed up. _Why don't you like them?_ Wolf had asked her, and Lucia had pulled a face. _They just show up in random places,_ she'd said. _You don't know when they're gonna turn up and save the day, because you never know what they want. It's annoying._

So, he thinks now, what does Cub want? What's the motive here? It could just be for money. Selling MI6's secrets. This is the twenty-first century, with a thousand sources of misinformation - truths are worth more than they've ever been, to the right buyer, and Lord knows Cub must know some classified things. Is it as simple as that - or is there something else going on here? And where does Wolf fit into this picture? Why did Cub come to him, and not anybody else?

There's something missing from the picture. Well, there are a lot of things missing, to be honest, but there's something in particular. A major puzzle piece. Wolf has felt its absence since Cub first arrived. He racks his brains, trying to figure it out what it is as memories flicker before his eyes.

Playing cards weaving in and out of each other...

A humorless smile...

Blood in the carpet...

Stitches in an oddly-shaped wound...

Wolf parks the car on a side street and makes his way to the building on foot. He takes the stairs, treading lightly, and when he slips his key into the front door, he squeezes the other keys on the fob so they don't jangle. This is just a mission, he tries to tell himself, and he imagines how the Sergeant might brief him. _Extract the dangerous agent. Be aware of his abilities. Don't let him get away._

When Wolf steps through the front door, the flat is still and dark and utterly silent.

The only warning he gets is a rush of air from the side, before he's ducking a punch that would have knocked him out cold.

Wolf recovers quickly because there's no other option. Instinct tells him where the kid is. He kicks out and his foot connects with a shin, making his attacker dance back, far enough for Wolf to wheel himself upright, fists clenched at the ready.

Cub is a ghost in the gloom. The sight of him almost makes Wolf shudder. This is not the grinning teenager who was kicking back on his sofa just a few hours ago. No - right now, Wolf's can only think that Cub looks like a _spy_. A thing made of shadow, only half-there.

"Cub," Wolf tries to keep his voice level, "Just tell me what's going on, yeah? Just tell me why everyone's looking for you, and we can figure something out. We don't have to fight about this."

But Cub shakes his head. The element of surprise has certainly gone out of the window.

"You can't do anything about it," says Cub, his voice oddly flat, "And I'm not going to let you get in my way."

He lashes out so quickly that he's hardly more than a blur, and then Wolf has no more opportunity to try and reason with the kid. It takes all his energy to defend himself against Cub's attacks. He throws a punch to the ribs; Wolf blocks. Cub seizes the momentum, trying to use Wolf's own movement against him and flip him over, but Wolf sees it coming and steels himself against the move. Then he takes advantage of the proximity, kicking out to sweep Cub's feet out from under him-

If the kid hadn't sprung back in the nick of time, slipping out of his grasp.

It's Cub's eyes, more than anything, that are close to throwing Wolf off. As they circle each other, the kid's gaze is unnervingly empty. His face is pure calculation, a blank screen, and if Cub is a machine then he's a deadly one.

But as the fight continues (minutes, it must only last minutes, although it feels like anything between a second and a year) a pattern emerges, and despite Cub's almost unnatural level of skill, it's not in his favour. Before long, Wolf realises that he's backing the kid into a corner. Cub is losing ground. He's good, impossibly good for his age, but just like before, there's something holding him back, and this time Wolf knows it must be the injury. It's dulling his edge, injecting a stiffness in some of Cub's movements that's giving Wolf an advantage.

When he next throws a punch, Wolf sees it coming. He sees the slight grimace in Cub's lips, obviously steeling himself against the pain of fighting with a fresh injury. Wolf acts quickly, grabbing the kid on his unguarded side and twisting him into a choke-hold. As Cub thrashes out against him, Wolf can feel him struggling for breath. A heel driven into Wolf's foot gets him free, but Wolf can see the slightly wild look in his eyes as he jerks away, and Wolf knows that he's realised the same thing.

Wolf is better prepared for this fight.

Wolf is going to win.

He's already thinking about how he will end this. At some point, the balance has flipped, and although Cub initiated this, it's Wolf who is on the offensive now. He just needs to subdue the kid somehow - not do him any serious damage, but make sure he's not a threat anymore, and then Wolf can figure out what he's going to do about this, who he's going to call...

Wolf aims a punch at Cub's kidneys. But instead of blocking the move, as he has been doing so far, Cub twists mid-air. In the briefest of seconds, Wolf doesn't have time to think. Suddenly, he sees his fist heading towards a different spot - towards the _exact_ spot of the knife wound - a blow will surely tear the injury back open, and have Cub bleeding out on the floor all over again-

Instinct, not logic, pulls the punch.

And in his split-second hesitation, Cub's knee comes up, sinking into his gut. All the breath vacates Wolf's lungs. His vision is a patchwork of stars. He opens his mouth (Cub will listen; Cub has to listen) but before he can get a word out, there's a sharp pinch in his arm.

Wolf is flooded with the strange sensation that the room is rising around him, and then he's out.

.

.

When he manages to get his eyes open again, Wolf recognises his own bedroom wallpaper.

"Oh, you're _kidding_ me."

So, he's trussed up with his own zip-ties, tied to his own desk chair, in his own flat. Great. Fantastic. When the SAS finds out about this, they won't even have to fire him; he'll resign out of embarrassment.

Cub, sitting cross-legged on the bed, glances up. Wolf's laptop is open in front of him, and as his eyes adjust, Wolf's realises that the kid is wearing his favourite hoodie. Which doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but it just feels like salt in the wound right now, to be honest.

"Hey, Wolf."

Wolf suppresses a grimace. Yep, turns out that going one-on-one with an agent is a bloody terrible idea. He can feel bruises coming up on his arms, and his ribs have definitely felt better, although thankfully nothing feels broken. He knows what that feels like. When he stretches his neck, pain needles through his temple.

"Did you use a fucking horse tranquiliser on me?"

Cub has the audacity to roll his eyes. "Bit dramatic, aren't you? It was just anaesthetic. You'll be fine."

Anaesthetic. So Cub planned this, all along – or accounted for the possibility, at least. He must have brought it with him when he broke away from Six, hidden it in the flat somewhere over the past days, because Wolf sure as fuck doesn't have that in his supplies.

It leaves a bitter taste in Wolf's mouth.

"Mmm. You know, I'd feel a lot better if you _let me out of these fucking ties_."

"Ah, sorry. No can do. If it helps, this is nothing personal."

Nothing person— "You broke into my fucking house. You convinced me you were - you were a scared kid. Vulnerable. Then you stayed under my roof for days while all the time you were— you were—"

What is Cub doing exactly? Wolf's eyes fall to the laptop, and a thrill of fear runs through him.

"Cub, I swear to God, if you're hacking into SAS files-"

"Jesus Christ, can you relax for a second? I'm not interested in your little SAS Christmas party videos."

"Then what are you even doing here? _What are you doing on my fucking laptop, Cub?_"

Cub doesn't reply. Wolf curses a bit more, out of sheer anger more than anything. The worst part is that he has no-one to be angry at but himself. He knew the kid was an agent, a skilled liar, and that Wolf had no reason to believe what he was saying was the truth. Wolf knew that. Yet he still fell for it. He fell for it right until the end, where Cub pulled the dirtiest trick in the book: betting on the fact that Wolf would pull the punch rather than seriously hurt him.

"I should have turned you in the second you showed up here."

Cub's fingers stop typing for a second. "Yeah," he says after a beat, his voice neutral. "Probably."

"Are you even gonna tell me what you're doing?"

"Hmm..." Cub drums his fingers on the keyboard. "Nah. I've been on the end of a few villain monologues, Wolf. They're tedious, and repetitive, and if you don't mind, I have things I actually need to be doing. How about you just let me get on with it, and it'll be painless as possible for both of us?"

Wolf really shouldn't reply "How about you go fuck yourself?" but he's pissed off, so he does, and Cub turns back to the screen, face impassive. And then there's nothing for Wolf to do but stew in his own anger, until eventually it simmers down enough that he's able to think properly.

_Alright_, is his first thought. _I'm definitely going to be out of these ties in the next five minutes._ Cub's might be good at his job, but so is Wolf, and at the moment, Cub's too absorbed in whatever he's doing on his laptop to notice Wolf carefully edging the penknife down from his sleeve. Luckily, "Never tie their hands behind their back" was one of the lessons they learned at Brecon after Cub left.

His next thought is that Eagle definitely picked up on the fact that something was wrong during their phone-call, and he'll probably have told Snake. Wolf wonders what they'll do about it. Call HQ, or come over here themselves? Either way, Wolf doubts it'll just be him and Cub here for long. When the cavalry show up, it'll all be over for the kid then.

And then, as Wolf slips the tie off his right hand, a pinprick pain throbs in his right arm, which gives him pause. He thinks of Cub rolling his eyes. _It was just anaesthetic. You'll be fine._ It occurs to Wolf, for the first time, that Cub could have knocked him out properly, action-movie-style, bashed him over the head and given him a serious head injury. Shit, Cub could have even killed him.

But he didn't.

Ugh. Wolf finds himself wishing that this whole thing were more clear-cut - that Cub was either completely innocent or a complete villain, and he didn't have to feel so damn bad about the fact that this is definitely going to end with the kid disappearing into some bottomless MI6 dungeon.

When he's cut through the first tie, he glances up at Cub, knowing he should keep talking so he doesn't get suspicious about the silence. Cub, however, doesn't seemed to be overly concerned with his hostage. He's staring at the laptop screen so intensely that Wolf can hear his mother saying _That'll give you square eyes if you look at it for too long._ As Wolf looks the kid over, his head tilts. Maybe it's the shitty lighting, but Cub looks... kind of rough. He's pretty sure even white kids aren't supposed to be that pale. Or have that drawn-out, I-could-use-three-weeks-of-sleep look. Wolf looks the kid up and down, and notices that he's leaning a little - just a little - on his left side, and using his left hand on the laptop mouse, even though Wolf is pretty sure he's right-handed.

"Not having any luck?" Wolf ventures.

Cub doesn't reply, but his lips twist. _Irritation_, Wolf thinks.

"You know, Cub, you've definitely looked better."

"Oh, thanks. You're no oil painting yourself."

"It's the knife wound, isn't it? It's still giving you hell."

"Oh, for fuck's… yes, okay?" Cub pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is that what you want to hear, Florence fucking Nightingale? Yes, it's still giving me hell, 'cause that thing was bloody awful to get out, and-"

Abruptly, he stops. But he's already said enough.

"What?" Wolf frowns. "What was hard to get out? The knife?"

He sees Cub take a deep breath, and turn firmly back to the laptop screen. "Shut the fuck up, would you, Wolf?"

But Wolf can feel the pieces sliding together in his mind. _Bloody awful to get out._ He's not talking about the knife. It doesn't sound right. Wolf thinks of the odd shape of the wound, curiously wedged between organs - almost like it was never intended to do real damage, despite the blood loss. He thinks of the things Cub has said, over the past few days, about the group who attacked him. _The way they operate is wrong. They've gone unchecked for a long time._ And now, now that Wolf knows that it was Six that Cub was running from all along...

_You could say they were, uh, keeping track of me._

"Holy shit," Wolf breathes, his eyes widening as it all falls into place. "Cub - your injury. Was it… did Six…"

Cub's eyes snap up. His face drains of what little colour it had.

And then his eyes close, and Wolf can see the moment that he gives in.

"Well done, Sherlock Wolf. You've cracked it. Yeah - they put a tracker in me."

"Fucking hell. Fucking _hell_."

Wolf's head spins as he tries to take the information in. If Cub had straight up told him, Wolf might not have believed him. But he saw it for himself. That wasn't a combat wound, it was a surgical one: extracting something that had already been implanted, and doing a pretty brutal job of it.

"Wait… Cub, did you do that to _yourself_?"

"Well, what was I going to do, walk into A and E and ask them to perform surgery on me? Not that you care, Wolf, but I never wanted anything to do with MIfucking6. God, I was fourteen! My entire family was dead! By the time I was old enough to make a choice, it was pretty bloody clear I wasn't allowed to leave." Cub's head falls to his hands. He really does look like shit. "I got injured on a mission, about a year ago. I woke up after surgery and they'd put a tracker in me. D'you understand now, Wolf? Sorry that I lied to you, sorry that I knocked you out - but I had to get away from them. I couldn't stand it any fucking longer."

And finally, Wolf does understand. He can see it playing out, in his head: Cub planning it out, cutting out the device, running to Wolf's doorstep for protection. He understands, and it makes his stomach turn over. It throws everything that he knows about Cub - everything about his relationship with Six - into a different light.

"And before you ask," says Cub, his voice weary now. "I needed your laptop because I need evidence. Anything I can find that incriminates Blunt and Jones. At the moment, it's just my word against theirs, and they have some pretty convincing psychiatrists on hand to testify that I'm a compulsive liar and I'm too traumatised by my uncle's death to know what I'm saying.

"I need solid proof of what they did. I figure the SAS might have something in their digital archives about me training with them. You don't have access to those, but I can work with your clearance level and hack the rest of the way in. And then... I figured MI5 are too close to Blunt to act, right? The CIA are in their pocket too, and well as ASIS… I think the only option is taking it to international level."

Wolf's brow creases. "What?"

"Well, they broke international law with me, didn't they? Even Six are supposed to be accountable to the UN. If I can get proof of what they did, the plan was to take it to the embassy in the city centre. Ask for protection. I thought about trying to send a message, or make a call, but Blunt would trace and intercept it. This was the only way to do it."

This is, quite literally, the last thing Wolf expected to hear. But when he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. This isn't a betrayal... it's a getaway. An old-fashioned cut-and-run.

"I thought…"

"That I was going darkside?" Cub raises an eyebrow. "Selling national secrets? Yeah, I'm sure that's how they're making it look. They control the media, you know?"

"But why _not_ just go underground?" Surely that would be the easier option than this?

"And spend my whole life on the run? No. They'd find me before the year was out. They're too powerful. I've got to-"

"Make friends with the bigger fish," Wolf finishes, remembering what Cub said earlier that day.

So this is what Cub meant by that. His options were to hide, knowing Six would find him, or make a big, dramatic break for it and take on the whole Secret Service with no allies, no evidence, and nothing to his name. Wolf almost thinks it's the most insane plan he's ever heard, but then he remembers the snowboard in France, and realises that this is probably the usual level of madness in Cub's plans.

And regardless of how insane it is, Wolf also knows that he has to be a part of it.

"Okay," he says, nodding slowly. "Okay. So how are we going to do this?"

Cub stares. "I'm starting to think you don't really understand what the word 'hostage' means."

Wolf snorts. "Give over, kid. We both know I could have gotten out of these ties by now, if I wanted to." In reality, he has already gotten out of them, but he needs Cub to trust him, and if he reveals that now it'll send the kid straight onto the defensive. Wolf doesn't want this to turn into another fight. "You say you're doing this because you've been treated like shit. Alright. I believe you. And I don't particularly want to see Six lock you up and throw away the key, so-"

"No," Cub cuts him off. "Stop it. Stop - whatever this is. I'm not fooling for it."

Wolf blinks. "I'm trying to help you, kid."

But Cub is shaking his head. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

Frustration builds in Wolf. "So you're gonna let your trust issues get you killed?"

"I don't need your help. I've managed on my own fine this far, thanks."

"Really? Then how are you gonna get all the way across London when the whole SAS is looking for you? I know their tactics. I can help you avoid getting caught. I meant what I said earlier, you know. About K Unit being like a family."

"You spent a week making my life hell in Brecon, and then - what? Three hours with me on the Point Blanc mission? Because your higher-ups told you to be there. I don't have an actual family to compare notes because they're all six feet under, but if that's your definition of family, Wolf, it's a bit fucking sad."

Wolf's mouth twists. Cub is lashing out because he's scared, he reminds himself, and tries not to let it get to him.

"You need my help. I can get you what you want. You want evidence that Six used you as an agent? You won't find that stuff in the archives, kid. They'll have covered their tracks too well. But I can give it to you, if you work with me."

Cub doesn't look away from the screen, but Wolf can tell that he has the kid's attention.

"I told you before," he continues. "I have a sister. When we were training at Brecon, I wrote to her. Old fashioned letters, you know? She likes that kind of thing. And I mentioned you. I mentioned there was this teenager that had been put into our unit. Mostly bitching about you, to be honest. But it's evidence, isn't it?"

"Where are these letters now?"

"At her house, probably. I know she'll have kept them. Is that enough for you?"

"That…" Cub leans back, pushes a hand through his hair. "That could actually work."

"Yeah, it could. But you know what, Cub? I can get you something even better." Cub says nothing, and Wolf takes a steadying breath. "First-hand testimony. I'll come with you and I'll tell them everything I know. About you training with us. About the mission in France - what almost happened to you there. How about that?"

Cub does not exactly respond with the enthusiasm that Wolf hoped for. He says nothing, and then turns back to the screen.

_Fuck_, Wolf thinks. "Come on, kid. You're not going to get a better opportunity than-"

"I said no, okay? I'm doing this on my own."

Wolf wants to scream in frustration. He wants to force Cub to see the reality of: if he tries to fly solo on this one, with the literal army he is up against, he's going to get himself killed. Wolf's hands itch to make a move, to take control of the situation. He could take the kid by surprise, and he'd win the fight this time. It's what instinct it telling him to do. His body is so lined with tension that it's taking more effort _not_ to act…

But he can't. Because that's what Six have done: take decisions away from Cub, strip him of his agency. If Wolf does that, he'll lose Cub's trust, permanently.

_Think, James_, he wills himself. _Use that thing between your ears._

He wets his lips before speaking again. "I'm sorry for how I acted at Brecon. I was a complete dickhead."

Cub pauses. "Yeah. Yeah, you were."

"I know it's not an excuse, but if it makes any difference, it's 'cause I was bloody terrified. I thought-"

"I would get the unit failed. Get you kicked out. I know."

Wolf nods. It's not surprise that Cub worked it out. "And I was jealous as well, to be honest," he adds. "You were… well, you were better than you had any right to be. Made me feel like I wasn't good enough to be there, if a kid was able to do so well."

That puts a gleam of surprise in Cub's eyes.

"The point is, Cub, I'm sorry that I was such a piece of shit. But - Jesus, kid, I never wanted anything bad to happen to you. When we found you in France, I thought you were dead. Did you know that? You were all crumpled at the bottom of that railway track, and there were these _spikes_ everywhere, and blood in the snow. And all I could think was, _fuck_, this is all my fault. My fault for not getting to you sooner. And… when you showed up here, last week… I thought you were dead _again_ and… shit. I just really don't want you to get yourself killed. I'm sorry if I say it in the wrong words. And I'm sorry if I ever treated you like you were a child. I know you're probably smarter than everyone in a mile's radius. That's how I _know_ that you're smart enough to know the odds, here."

Wolf takes a deep breath. Cub hasn't moved an inch.

"I wasn't kidding when I said that every SAS unit is looking for you. They're all getting ready to take you in. We've been on standby for days already. They know you're in London, and they're probably narrowing down your location right now. I really, really don't want to see this end the way it's gonna end, if you try to do this by yourself, Cub."

Wolf realises that he's pleading with the kid. He also realises that he doesn't care, right now, how undignified it might make him look. He doesn't care a single bit.

"I pulled the punch, didn't I?" says Wolf. "You pulled that trick because you _knew_ that I would."

Cub is still as painted scenery. He stares at Wolf for a long, long time, until they're past uncomfortable and into unnerving. Then, finally, he pulls his hands back from the laptop, clasping them together in his lap.

"It's Alex," he says very quietly.

"Huh?"

"My name is Alex. Not Cub."

_Holy shit._ "Right. Right. Okay. I'm - er - James."

"Yeah, I know."

"Oh, right. Hacked file, and all that."

"Yeah." Wolf thinks he sees Cub's lip twitch a little, before his expression sobers. "And you're right. I know the odds. It's just…"

He stops, and for a moment, the mask slips. The mask which makes him seem like an infallible spy, capable to the point of being untouchable, which Wolf didn't even realise he'd been wearing until suddenly it is gone. Wolf sees real fear in Cub's eyes for the first time, and his chest aches with sympathy. Jesus - the kid is terrified. How long has it been since he last trusted someone?

"I get it," says Wolf. "You know, after my mum died, I didn't know how to do shit. I was sixteen, and I didn't know how to cook or clean or any of that - and my sister was working, she was too busy to take care of those things. But I didn't know, so I just didn't do any of it-" Wolf is rambling, and he never meant to say any of this to Cub, but it feels like he's saying the right thing so he just keeps going- "-and it got to the point, right, where I hadn't had a lightbulb in my room for three weeks 'cause I didn't want to ask my sister to change it. Even though I knew I'd have to do it sooner or later. I was a fuckin' mess. Shit, Cub - I mean, Alex. D'you get the point I'm trying to make?"

Cub's lip quirks. "How many SAS soldiers does it take to change a lightbulb?"

"Ah, Fox said that one too."

"But I do get your point. Yeah." Cub chews on his lip. "Screw it. Okay, then. If you want to come with me - give testimony - I'm not going to stop you."

Wolf lets out the heaviest breath of his life. Thank Christ.

"But just so you know. If you double cross me, I'll come back to haunt you."

Wolf rolls his eyes, but a chill dances up his spine.

"Alright." He flexes his arms and tosses away the now-defunct zipties. "So, what do we do first?"

And then, as if in reply, the window shatters.

.

.

So there it is. The plots are a-twisted. The secrets are out in the open. Next chapter, we're into the final act.

Please let me know what you thought? Surprised? Not surprised? Reviews really do make me Feel An Emotion. (And there were some particularly kind ones last chapter, thank you.)

I love you all, take care x


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